


Serious About Grammar

by PigeonWrites



Category: Hot Guy P.I. (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, Homophobia, I am writing this purely bc Karina said plz, Journalist!Schmidt, M/M, Mystery, No cell phones, PI!Nando, and goofy as hell, basically crime noir, basically it's tropey as hell and I love that, but gay, but modern mentallity-ish, knife dog rights, no social media, slowburn, tags update as written, vaguely time period au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25342270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PigeonWrites/pseuds/PigeonWrites
Summary: Fernando is a simple PI, working low pay and low stakes cases that he's fine with. His daughter says he's the most boring PI ever and he thanks her. Then a handsome stranger comes in with a case that's much bigger than Fernando initially guessed. Has he bit off more than he can chew? And what's with this Schmidt guy?
Relationships: Fernando Sy/Schmidt
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. Gray or Grey?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No joke wrote this entirely bc Karina said she wanted it and I really wanted to give back to someone who inspired me a lot. I will also be finishing the McHanzo story that I posted a chapter to and abandoned, I apologize. But also, will I be finishing it? Who knows.

Chapter 1 - Grey or Gray?

It was a gray morning, but most mornings are gray in the smoggy center of Manhattan, and Fernando Sy was used to the perpetual overcast sky. Fall was one long gray evening that gave way to the gray snows of winter before the gray blue sky of spring gave way to the stifling heat of summer. Fernando paused as he unlocked his office door. 

Was the summer gray too? Could heat be gray? If it could be that was New York in the summer. Gray heat. Or is it grey? He can’t remember.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts he trips on the uneven welcome mat. He swears under his breath as he catches himself. “I need to get rid of that.” He mutters, like he does every time he trips on it, and then promptly forgets about it until the next time.

With a sigh he flipped the light switch, illuminating the ‘reception’ area. Really, it was just what would be the living room of the renovated apartment, an uneven L-shaped room, the length of it being a hallway, kitchenette/office to one side and bathroom on the other. All in all it was just about three hundred square feet, and being rented to Mr.Sy for far under market value. The benefit of finding the building owner’s kidnapped daughter a few years ago (which turned out to be the girl simply wandering off with a slightly older kid who lived a block over and the two of them getting lost). 

“ _ Yar! Yar!”  _ yipped Watson, the Italian Greyhound that Fernando brought with him most everywhere, as he tried to wiggle free of harness, having only allowed it while out and about.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” Fernando rolled his eyes, unclipping it and allowing Watson free. The dog did his usual inspection of the office before situating himself in his usual spot on the receptionist’s chair. Really, the chair and desk were for show more than anything else. Sy Private Investigations was not nearly busy enough to warrant a receptionist, but it looked professional, and when Nadia wasn’t in school she liked to sit in the front room and pretend to be working, while she read or drew comics. 

“Keep an eye out for me.” Watson responded to the command by lifting his back leg to lick his bits. It was about the response Fernando expected.

He walked back to the kitchenette to make coffee, instant and disappointing, but caffeine filled nonetheless. He filled the electric kettle and turned it on to heat while he started to organize his notes for Mrs. Betty Davidson, an elderly woman convinced her husband was cheating on her with the lady who lived downstairs. Her husband, Mr. Dave Davidson, was in fact not having an affair with the lady who lived downstairs, as evidenced by Lilian’s very happy relationship with her roommate, Micheala. Mrs. Davidson would be glad to hear it, but would be back in a month with a different woman to accuse of stealing her husband away.

Fernando enjoyed her monthly accusations, which he recognized less as actual accusations and more as excuses to make the trip from the fifth floor to the second with a tin of whatever goodies she’d made that morning. She was a bored old woman with a strange hobby and the money to pay for it (after realizing her habit he started charging less, but she insisted on paying him, even if it was at half rate).

He had just sat down when an “ _ Yar! Yap! Yap!”  _ called for his attention. He glanced at his watch. Eight thirty was much too early for Mrs. Davidson and he wasn’t expecting anyone else, but new clients wandered in from time to time. He hurried up, closing the file of notes and pushing them to the side of his messy desk. 

“Hello, are you the receptionist?” An amused voice said. Fernando turned the corner to see the potential client- a tall man in a sleek suit. Fernando’s first thought was that a model had stumbled into his office, closely followed by an estimate of the bespoke suit. It certainly made his rumpled suit jacket (currently hanging on the coat rack by the door) look...bad.

“That would be Watson, my faithful companion.” He said, a business smile fixing itself on his face without much thought as he gave the usual line. “I’m Fernando Sy, private investigator. What can I do to help you?”

The main jumped slightly, having been distracted by the dog. As he turned Fernando thought he looked familiar, but couldn’t place the (admittedly very attractive) face. He smiled offering out his hand. “Nando, you can call me Schmidt. I’m hoping you can help me find someone.”

As ‘Nando’ shook Schmidt’s hand the kettle began to scream.

\---

As much as Schmidt was different from his usual clientele, Fernando was happy for work, especially something that promised to be interesting. His curiosity had gotten him into the business, and plenty of trouble before that. He sat across from the man, desk and two cups of mediocre coffee between them (and files stacked on either side of the desk that Fernando kept meaning to get a filing cabinet for.

“Why don’t we start at the beginning? Who are you looking for and why?” 

“Her name is Jennifer Benne, and we’re...well friends” He pretended to sip the coffee, setting it back down on the desk. So he was a bit pretentious, but polite about it. Or, mostly anyway. He could have also just said no to coffee.

“She’s an actress, isn’t she?” Fernando asked, as he began to write on a journalist’s notepad (he’d learned that they were right about the efficiency of having a notebook that you can hold with one hand and write in with the other. 

“Yes, but I met her in school, before she was acting. Our families are friends, though I haven’t talked to mine or hers much since moving to Manhattan, but I got a call this morning asking if I could find her.” He explained, waving a hand as he spoke. Fernando noted the fingerless gloves. An odd choice.

“If she’s missing why call you and not the police?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“They don’t suspect anything violent, just that she’s forgotten to call them to tell them she’s sick and couldn’t make it to the family breakfast this morning, or worst case that she had friends over and got a bit too drunk last night. Given her fame, they’d like to avoid any press finding out.”

Fernando considered the answer. He really didn’t follow celebrities much, just knew of ‘Jenny Benny’ from his daughter’s excitement when she and some school friends got to see a performance of “Silly Girl.” Jennifer didn’t have a huge amount of credits before the role, but she came from money if he remembered right, the old kind that didn’t like police or reporters they didn’t own. It was far from his usual lower Manhattan clientele.

“So they call you, someone they consider a friend, thinking that you’d have an idea where she is?” He sums up.

“Yes, but moreso they wanted me to go to her apartment and check up on her.” He frowned. “I just...don’t particularly want to go alone. If there’s press they’d get the wrong idea, but also if it is something more serious I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Well, that changed things a bit. “I’d be happy to investigate it. If you can give me a description of Miss Benne I’ll head over and see if-”

“You don’t know what she looks like?” Schmidt interrupted. “I thought you knew who she was.”

“As, well, I recognize the name, but I’m afraid I don’t really follow celebrity news. So, I don’t actually know what she looks like.” He smiled, trying to remain polite, even as the guy got on his nerves a bit. It was probably going to be super simple, just a young woman who got carried away with partying and forgot to call her parents.

He didn’t expect Schmidt to relax his posture at the answer, or the barely noticeable sigh of relief from the man. It made him suspicious though.

“Oh, I can describe her then.”

Fernando dutifully wrote down the description, pausing briefly at ‘last seen in a grey evening dress Saturday night.'

“Gray is with an a” Schmidt noted.

“I could have sworn I’ve seen it with an E.” Fernando said, shaking his head and fixing the spelling.

“You might have, it’s gray with A in America, grey with an E in England.”

“Oh, uh.” He shrugged, making a mental note of it, which promptly was forgotten. “And Mr. Schmidt, for my records, what do you do?”

“Just Schmidt, and I’m a m- er, I’m a journalist.” He smiled, picking up the coffee cup and taking a long sip, avoiding eye contact. Lying. Or, at least, hiding something.

“Oh, what paper?” He asks casually, looking for hole to poke at. 

“...Yew Nork Times.” He said, taking another sip of the coffee that he was clearly Not Enjoying. Yew Nork was a pretty popular local paper, so if he’s lying it’s a bold claim.

“Any articles I would have read?”

“Uh, I write a column actually…”

“Which one?”

“...Schmidt’s Secrets...it’s in the lifestyle section.” Fernando blinked, immediately remembering why the face was familiar. He was some famous model who’d become a reporter. Fernando remembered because his column had replaced “Quill’s Pen,” a short weekly column that reported 300 words on some new niche topic each week. It’d been Fernando’s favorite column, but the guy who wrote it left the paper and this celebrity jerk had replaced him, writing random ‘advice’ columns about fashion or skincare or whatever. 

“Ah, well, why did the Bennes call you if they were looking to avoid reporters?” Probably because he was in their pocket, and didn’t really write gossip beyond an ‘inside look into Duchess LaLa’s wardrobe.’ He wasn’t expecting Schmidt’s grimace as he answered.

“Well, uh, like my family...they don’t really take my career choice very seriously. They trust that as a family friend I wouldn’t write anything ‘unsavory.’” He explained, with air quotes. So he wasn’t totally un self-aware.

“Why’d you come to me? I’m not exactly well advertised.” He set his notebook down, leaning back into his chair as he sipped his coffee. Evaluating Schmidt’s reply. The guy acted real cool, but he clearly came from money, and might have tried to distance himself from it...without really distancing himself at all, if his ‘articles’ were anything to go off. 

“You helped a friend of mine in the past, Deena Danver? You helped her find her dog.” That was one of his first cases where he got to charge full price. Also where he found Watson (with the scar to prove the ridiculous story of knife dog).

“Ah, yes I remember. Well, I have an appointment this afternoon, but I can go by this address before that and see if she’s there.” Fernando stood, setting his (now empty) coffee mug down. In his head he ran over the time; assuming that it really was just a young woman on a bit of a bender it wouldn’t take too long and he’d be back in time for three thirty when Mrs. Davidson came down with sweets and coffee that wasn’t just powder added to hot water.

“If it’s alright I’d like to go with you.” Schmidt interrupted Fernando’s thoughts, standing as well.

“I’m not going to object, but you are paying me to investigate..? Why not just let me handle it?” 

Schmidt hesitated before he answered. “I want to see what you do. Besides, it isn’t that I don’t want to go find Jenny, it’s just that I don’t particularly want to go alone. I really am worried about her.”

Fernando considered the answer. Maybe this wasn’t as simple as he thought it’d be. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to bring someone with him if it was going to be more trouble, plus if Jenny was fine she could yell at Schmidt for invading her privacy instead of Fernando, so win win. 

“Alright, if you insist. It’s just a few blocks over, so no need to drive. Do you need to fill a meter for your car..?”

“I took a cab here.”

“I'll grab my coat and we can go."

  
  



	2. Irregardless (of consequences)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by: that time I tried to take the stairs up to the 14th floor and deeply regretted that decision. Oh, also, edited the first chapter for some plot holes/inconsistencies.

Chapter 2 - Irregardless (of consequences)

The address was three blocks up, two over, so really not a terrible walk, even if the weather was cold enough to make Fernando glad he grabbed his scarf. The walk was quiet but for the sounds of the city and their footsteps. Watson had grudgingly allowed the harness to be put back on him.

“You can just make out the red of central park.” Schmidt said suddenly. Fernando glanced up, noting that yes, this street was in line so the edge of central park was visible, and a riot of oranges and reds of mid fall.

“Probably a nice view twenty stories up.” He commented, glancing at the tall buildings around them. 

“I like the view from here; the buildings sort of frame the splash of color. Feels more dramatic.”

There’s a beat of silence before Fernando replies. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“An unobstructed view isn’t always the best. Seeing the entirety of a picture can make it less interesting.” He paused his steps for a moment, looking to the beautiful dying leaves. “That’s the theory for lingerie anyway.”

Fernando sputtered, caught off guard by the comment. By the time he’d processed it though, Schmidt was walking again, his long strides just a bit faster than the shorter man’s. 

\---

Jenny’s apartment building was taller than was perhaps entirely reasonable, or at least it felt so with the elevator out of service. Fernando mentally swore as they reached the fourteenth floor. Even Schmidt, despite his too-cool facade, was a bit flushed from the exertion, but he hadn’t had to carry a stubborn dog up as well.

“Give me...just a moment.” He huffed, setting Watson down. Schmidt didn’t seem to pay him any mind as he walked towards Jenny’s apartment. Fernando glared at his back as he straightened and hurried after. 

“You gonna knock?” He asked, trying for sarcastic and a little bit mean, but failing to sound the least bit intimidating. Schmidt in fact did knock. Twice. No sound came from within the apartment.

“She could be out?” Fernando offered after a long moment. “Or this is the wrong address?”

“No, I vaguely remember visiting her here before. And if she isn’t here we might be able to find clues to where she is.”

“Right. The door is locked though, so we’ll have to sweet talk the super-” Schmidt interrupts that train of thought, crouching in front of the door knob and beginning to pick the lock.

“This is faster.” He offered as explanation.

“I thought you were a writer? How do you know how to pick a lock?”

“I always lock myself out of my apartment so I found a book on it.” He glances up, a bit awkward, as the door swings open. “That’s not weird, is it?”

“Not at all.” Fernando snorts, looking away from him into the room apartment. Which, ‘apartment’ is a lacking descriptor, as the main living room is already as large as Fernando’s entire two bedroom. The wall opposite the entry is primarily window, but drawn curtains block whatever view is there and cast the room into stark shadow and light. It’s sparsely furnished, but what furniture there is elegant modern pieces, and the among tasteful decor are quite a few houseplants. “Woah.”

“No…” Schmidt said with a grimace as he glanced around the room.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Jenny is incredibly neat. She’d never leave her place like this!” He said gesturing to a shoe rack by the door which was in disarray, as well as a coat that had fallen off a hook on the wall.

“Maybe she was in a rush to leave?” Fernando offered, not really thinking much of it. He didn’t know Jenny personally, but this was far from messy...at least compared to his own apartment anyway.

“It’s just not like her.” Schmidt insisted.

“Alright, let’s...look around for clues then.” He was now regretting letting the other tag along. Had it been just him, he would have chatted with the super, both to be let in and to get more information on the girl. Maybe she had stayed over with a friend? 

Fernando walked to the back of the room, looking around casually. If this was something simple he didn’t want to invade her privacy too much. Meanwhile Schmidt got on the ground to look under the couch.

“Can you please keep an eye on Watson?” He asked after a moment, looking up to see the dog watching him from on top of the couch.

“Can you not be snippy to my little boy?” Fernando snapped back, a bit annoyed now.

“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re one of those people who treat their pets like children.” Fernando, politely, ignored the comment, walking further into the apartment. A short hallway off the main room led to what looked like a bedroom and a closed door that he assumed was a bathroom. 

“This apartment is huge...I couldn’t live in a place like this.” He shook his head, as he walked into the bedroom.

“Nando!” Schmidt yelled suddenly. Fernando turned sharply, but not before noticing the woman lying on the floor next to her bed, hands tied in front of her and bruising evident on her face.

“Schmidt, I’ve found her!” He yelled as he turned to see Schmidt with a knife to his throat held by a man in a balaclava.

“Who the hell are you two? What do you think you’re doing here?” The man yelled more than asked. Schmidt looked frozen, unable to speak in fear of the knife at his throat.

“Woah, buddy we’re just here to check up on Jenny, calm down.” Fernando said, plastering a smile on his face and holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s all gonna be fine. I’m sure this is just some crazy misunderstanding. Why don’t you put that down and we can talk this through-”

He’s interrupted as he moves to step forward. “Move and I’ll kill him!”

“Alright, alright, it’s fine. No need for that.” He said, freezing his step. “What’s your exit strategy here? Kill us and hope you can run down all those stairs before someone comes to check on all the noise?”

The man glares, pressing the knife a bit harder to Schmidt’s throat. Schmidt, who looked about three shades paler than before and who whispered almost “Help.” Nando took a deep breath, closing his eyes and thinking. He’s fast on his feet, has to be. This situation though makes it hard. If it were him at knifepoint he could tell Schmidt to run and get help while he disarmed the guy. He couldn’t get close as is, not without that knife- wait. Knife.

He grinned, this time more genuine, shifting his weight onto his back foot, as if relaxed and casual. “Listen, it’s all going to be fine. Okay? Okay Mr. KNIFE!”

Schmidt looked confused, as did the man holding the knife, and for one terrible moment Fernando worried he was wrong. He wasn’t, and a split second later Watson came careening into the room, easily jumping up the length of Schmidt and snatching the knife away. The second the knife was out of human grasp, Fernando was charging forward, shoving Schmidt away as he tackled the attacker to the ground. The man thrashed around, but clearly wasn’t actually that skilled at fighting as Fernando was able to pin him down, face to the ground and arms locked behind him. Looking up to Schmidt’s amazed face he barked “Call for help!”

\---

Schmidt did go get help, running back to the main room and using the landline to call the police, who came quick. In that time Fernando had him also check on Jenny, cutting her ties and resting her against the bed. Aside from being passed out and obviously punched she didn’t seem too bad.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite PI. What’s your business again?” A familiar detective asked while two uniformed police handcuffed and unmasked the assailant. Across the room the another detective struggled to get the knife from Watson.

“Hey, Daniella. It’s Sy Private Investigations, thanks.” He told her, with a crooked grin. It’s always funny when you run into your ex at work. “Schmidt here had me come with him to check on his friend Jenny.”

“The door was already open when we got here.” Schmidt added. He sat on the couch, warily watching Watson outmaneuver the portly detective.

“It looks like your friend will be okay, though we’re gonna take her over to the hospital so a doctor can double check. Do you know who her next of kin is? Or someone who can contact her family?” Daniella asked, turning to Schmidt.

“Ah, well I suppose that would be me actually.” He said, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll call her parents and let them know what’s going on.” Daniella quirked an eyebrow, tilting her head. Her detective stance.

“What’s your relation to Miss Benne, Mr..Schmidt was it?”

“Schmidt, yes. And-” He’s interrupted by the man who’d threatened him shouting as he’s walked out.

“I didn’t want to do this- I’m just a freelancer!” He yelled as the rookie cops led him out.

“I better go handle that.” Daniella sighed. She whistled sharply, to which Watson replied by running up to her to sit at her feet, tail wagging wildly. “Drop it.”

The other officer, Detective Allen Brightworth (Daniella’s close friend and work partner for as long as she’d been a detective), groaned as Watson did as he was told. “So when you say it he does it, but I’m the one left chasing the damn brat.”

“Watson is a good boy.” Daniella replied with a smile as she bagged the evidence. “I expect both of you to come make statements tomorrow, alright?”

“Yes ma’am.” Fernando said with a small salute.

“Oh,” she paused in the doorway, looking over her shoulder. “And Nando, I still think Hot Guy P.I. is a better name.”

“Very funny.” He called after as she shut the door behind her. “Ah, but yeah, you’ve got to make your statement tomorrow or she’ll be on your ass, and it’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“You know her well then?” Schmidt asked.

“Pretty well, yeah. Considering we were married for nine years and she’s the mother of my child.” He laughed, leaning down to pat Watson (who indeed, is a good boy).

“Oh...I had no idea.”

“Why would you? But anyway,” he sat next to Schmidt, a bit more serious now. “I just wanted to check that you’re alright.”

“I’m fine. I just don’t like knives.” He said waving a hand. “Really, I just don’t react well to them. I’m otherwise fine.”

“If you say so.” Doubting, but leaving it, Fernando moved on. “Anyway, if you want to head home I’ll get your info for payment at the station tomorrow-”

“No.”

“Huh?”

Schmidt stood up, beginning to pace. “I’m sorry that this was a bit more than whatever you thought it’d be, but you heard that guy. He was hired by someone, and I want to find out who. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

Well, fuck. It is. “If you want me to investigate further I can, of course.”

“I want to help.” He said it so earnestly that Fernando was reminded of his daughter trying to help with dinner when she was barely tall enough to reach the kitchen counter.

“That’s...an unusual request but not an unreasonable one. I have a lead already, so we can start there.”

“What lead?” Schmidt paused in his pacing (Watson, who had been following him ran directly into his leg). Fernando held up a business card for a freelancing agency.

“Found it in the guy’s pocket. Figured it might be useful.”

“You were planning on investigating anyway.”

“What can I say? Curiosity is my biggest flaw.”

Schmidt shook his head, taking the business card to read it. “Address is a bit far. We’d need to take the train.”

“Nah, I’ll drive. My car is back at the office.”

“Oh, right, you drive.”

“Yup!” He said, popping the p. “By the way, you said her next of kin? I thought you were just vaguely family friends.”

“Ah…” Schmidt shrugged. “We’re not really close as we used to be, but we never technically...ended our engagement.” 

“Oh. Okay, noted.” That was kind of a big detail to omit, but then again. Seems like it hadn’t ended too badly given his concern for her. Or maybe it had been bad, but he still cared.

“It doesn’t matter much, we’re not really engaged anymore, but her parents, and mine, still think we’re joined at the hip. Hence why I was called when she failed to show up for the monthly family breakfast.”

“Makes more sense.” Well, part of it did. He still didn’t really understand their relationship. “Irregardless-”

“Regardless.”

“Pardon?” 

“Irregardless isn’t a word. It’s often mistakenly used, but the correct phrase is regardless, as in without regard.” Schmidt explained.

“Right. Regardless, we have our lead.” He smiled. Schmidt was a bit odd, but it was disarmingly charming. Maybe he was just handsome.

“What was that thing about Hot Guy P.I.?” He asked as the pair (and Watson, once again being held) began the descent back down the twenty eight flights of stairs. 

“It’s my ex-wife making fun of me, let’s not talk about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> colonel I'm trying to write but I'm dummy thic and the clap of my ass cheeks keeps alerting my deep seated anxieties about the quality of my work


End file.
